Casuistry, in Abandon, Spirals to Ultimetaquivalence. Introspection Spirals to, in Truthfulness, Rejection of the Yoke.

Experimental Poem

Last night I was struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. A pair of interlinked couplets, in the classical tradition, came to mind, but I decided to do something unusual and pair them to meter. That meter came out pretty uniquely—perhaps I'll develop and/or use it further in the future? Anyway, the first three stanzas are in dactylic hexamater, with an ABACBC rhyme scheme; and the last stanza is in iambic pentameter, with an ABAB rhyme scheme.


Impressions are deceiving, but let only be said what all

people do not already know: they strengthen every falsehood,

high among them, in irony propagated, the cabal—

hands mingling with the mongrels below. Mortality and man

defy themselves, fated they roam by a power beyond good,

yet it advances without intention, boundless is its span.


I traveled a land without time whose clocks spun while abknowed,

words from their language each meaning, like abknowed, ways of being:

abknowed—truth!—is the state of not knowing, life-drunk by the road.

Life, much life, is spent abknowed, if reflection is one's aim.

Splendor then at the opposite, spiteful prophecying!

Disposed thusly I departed the clocks, still very selfsame.


Relations are odd; one, and I bring abknowed upon myself,

circling about my message which for two periods I bed

my so-eminent-first-personal perspective to the shelf:

no maestro could hope, even were he, to grab hold of the reins

when, being fractal, the paths are so unset, and by all led

as he to rest in the banal ignorance his structure contains.


Without regard for any tricks of mind,

to live is emptiness and also dancing.

Of each among the saddest things to find,

that single one might be the most entrancing.


I think taking myself to task and imposing some metrical constraint helped me in the end. I think this might be some of my best, if not my very best poetic work. While parts drag on, and the insertion of the "abknowed" plot-thread reminds me of Kurt Vonnegut in the worst way, I think the message works naturally overall, a distinct honor among my writing. I only wish I could have reworked the second line of the final stanza. It sounds like I'm referencing Nietzsche!

P.S. In writing this post, I've come to realize I might have a negative understanding of markdown. It figures. Hopefully I can come to better organize posts in the future, but in the meantime, if you're feeling charitable, please excuse the delivery of this post's content.

- 8 toasts